It is all Relative

Things keep happening. Now and later. Before and after. That’s how it is meant to be. Everything is to be related. Everything has a certain obligation on it. A desire to be fulfilled, a wish to be granted! It is all relative.

Wake up, peer out of the fog tinted window and you see yourself staring back at you. A lousy, mussed hair version of you, but you nonetheless. Feeling for a different image, a second opinion, you look at another mirror, it’s the same but not quite. You know what to expect this time, the shock, if any, will be if your expectations are dashed.

Putting on your shoes, crouching down on one knee, you focus on the right one and tie it tightly and you follow suit with the other shoe. The second shoe is always the ignored one, the one you focus less on, the one with less scuff marks. Its not the shoe’s fault, you didn’t confirm its fate, you merely followed the inexplicable logic which makes you focus more on one shoe than the other. Relative, Maybe, Probably!

Heading out of the doorway, you swing the gate away from you or towards yourself and lean back for the same. You swing it outward, you get to exit head-first; you swing it inward, you exit head bowed and cautious enough to avoid the volatile gate-swinging, if any is there. You look around; see the same people and your eyes glaze over in recognition. You see new people; they are given a second more of your attention, and one more if they are astonishingly unconventional or beautiful. Relative, all inclusive, perhaps !

With the back-pack’s straps slackening with every jump you take to reach school, you reach school early for absurd reasons best left untold, and wind your way through the empty classroom. Empty classrooms can never prepare you for the vast inanity of conversation you are bombarded with in a full one. A Full room always makes it seem compact.

You Kick the pebbles on the road, follow the larger one and kick it with more force than imaginable. It speeds, then slows and comes to a decadent stop rolling on the ever-present gravel. Pick up another pebble, a small smooth oval one at that. Throw it with all your heart, all that dormant strength, it flies, soars for but a while. Kick another pebble, they’re all the same, worn, hurt, soared, dragged, it is all relative.

If this makes you think, Good; If it doesn’t, even better.